Petals in the Hourglass
by Mizu no Kenshi
Summary: A series of KanLena drabbles. 5: Am I just who they created me to be? The lotuses are blossoming again.
1. and I the fallen seraphim

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I know I really should be working on _When the Lotus Falls_, but after the latest chapter (185) I just couldn't resist. But I promise chapter 2 of WtLF will be up soon!

Note: This is going to be a series of KanLena drabbles with no actual timeline—meaning, it'll skip around. A lot.

Disclaimer: D. Gray-man does not belong to me. This applies for the entire series of drabbles.

* * *

**Title:** and I the fallen seraphim

**Rating: **PG

**Summary: **For humans to prevail over akuma, some sacrifices are necessary.

* * *

Darkness was upon them.

The Order thrived in times like these, where helpless souls and powerless mortals begged for salvation.

Choice and freedom had no place in times of war. You did the best you could to survive, to live another day and bathe in another pool of blood.

You did as you were told.

Because they were merely machines with expiration dates, churned out again and again to keep the evil at bay and cling to the last fading shards of their sanity.

There was nothing that was unheard of. Experiments went on through the loneliest hours of the night as screams erupted sporadically. Even in the witch's hour, nothing was truly silent—there were always echoes of ghostly cries of times long past.

He was different, not content to be a lab rat of their futile attempts. He was a wild card—their weapon and their downfall.

But as unorthodox as he was, there was only so much he could refuse because this time, if he did—

_darkredblood on purewhiteskin_

_ - - -lying there still as a statue and silent as the grave_

_your heart is waiting_

—he risked losing everything.

_Strong as the sky, fragile as your name_

She was not meant to be a part of this. She was never meant to live in the dark, no matter how sugar-coated it was.

In this hour of darkness, she was the only thing that remained bright, piercing through the doubts, the lies, the hate.

Even now, he could feel her approach, light treads and silken whispers.

His heart clenched at the thought of that light extinguishing. Strong she may be, but there will be a time where her wings will fall and her resolve collapse. She will plunge into the ocean of death, and this time, she would not resurface.

_He would hasten his own death to give her another year, another month, another day._

It was worth it. _She _was worth it.

She touched his arm, lightly at first, and then with the desperation of one who was drowning when he turned to meet her.

_a frail angel of war_

He looked into those violet eyes, splintered with sadness. Those lips, silent and yet alive with feelings unsaid and emotions untouched.

-_this is a war, a battlefield-_

_-sacrifices are necessary, you understand-_

_-a means to an end-_

He closed his eyes, content to bask in her presence. He leaned forward until his head rested on her own.

He was sorry for being the source of her pain, sorry for hurting her time and time again

_sorry for everything_

And surrounded by her warmth, he almost wanted to take it all back so he could have his time with her—time enough to memorize all the contours of her body and all her quirks and endearing qualities.

_His time was ever shortening_

Drawing her to him, he felt the butterfly-flutter of her heart beating against his palm.

Holding her tighter—

_time is running out_

—he committed her to memory so he could bring a part of her with him.

The silk of her hair

The softness of her skin

The warmth of her being

_The beat of her heart_

This was what he was doing it for.

He would give up his life so she could live hers.

_Love me until the last petal falls  
_


	2. echoes of whispers unsaid

**Title:** echoes of whispers unsaid

**Rating: **G

**Summary:** Meditation doesn't necessarily always involve clearing the mind of everything.

* * *

She used to always feel bad about running to his room every time she needed a reprieve.

(Who was there to give him a reprieve from her?)

Each time, she would smile apologetically and meekly slide out the door, promising herself that this would be the last time.

And yet each time the helplessness arose, she would find herself standing in front of his door once more.

_Nice to see you again, Lenalee Lee._

His face swam to the surface of her mind and she shivered unconsciously. No matter what promises or determination she forced on herself, Rouvelier always managed to brush them aside with a mere glance.

Just when she had finally thought she had become independent of Kanda, even just a little, the man that haunted the dark corridors of her dreams and the frailness of her mind had shown up again.

Seeing his face had unraveled whatever strength she pretended she had and before she knew it, she found herself staring at the entrance to his room.

Unhappily, she fingered the knob, hesitating and two seconds away from bolting.

The swordsman's temper was something everyone was well acquainted with, and despite knowing this she had gone to him countless times. Surprisingly, he had never so much as yelled at her or handled her roughly—generally, he would go on meditating and grunt every once in a while in reply.

Nevertheless, she didn't want to continue being a bother. He had his own problems to deal with, his own secrets to burn and watch over.

Her fingers reluctantly slipped from the shiny metal, and just as she was about to steel herself to leave, the door swung inwards.

"Are you just going to stand there all day or are you going to come in?"

Lenalee stared, wide-eyed. "How did you—"

"Doesn't matter, just come in," he answered brusquely, moving to step behind her while keeping a hand on the door.

All but shoved into his room, she stumbled forward, protesting all the while to deaf ears.

Calmly, Kanda closed the door with a soft click and went back to the center of his room, where he had presumably been meditating, leaving her to stand awkwardly. She stood and fidgeted nervously until he told her, eyes closed, to hurry up and meditate with him before she melted from nerves.

She had attempted meditation many times before, starting from when she was just a little girl and still running away from the Order.

_Even back then, he had been her refuge._

But no matter how long or hard she tried, she wasn't able to stay perfectly silent and tranquil like Kanda.

As always, she tried valiantly in an attempt to prove herself and repay him but, as usual, her mind was a tumult of thoughts.

She fidgeted and squirmed, settled down for a while, and then repeated the process.

Peeking out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Kanda was perfectly still. She studied his form enviously—he was always graceful and beautiful, even doing nothing. Her eyes traced his contours and angles, caressing his aristocratic cheekbones and finely shaped nose, his loose silken tresses and deceptively slim frame.

Soon, she forgot all about clearing her mind and openly stared at the man before her. She rarely got a chance to appraise him so brazenly and her eyes drank in the sight greedily, like Icarus reaching for the sun.

Her thoughts soon drifted and as she gazed at those firm, expert hands, she gave in to her heart and wondered what it would feel like to be touched by him, to be held by him—

_what's inside a heart made of stone?_

—to be loved by him.

She was startled when his eyes suddenly opened and stared right at her, a small knowing smirk appearing on his face.

Flushing, she shut her eyes tightly and desperately prayed for the ground to swallow her whole.

When she felt his warm hands on her shoulders, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Twisting around jerkily, she looked up at him.

"What…?' Her breath caught in her throat at the look in his eyes.

"Relax. You're too tense." His fingers gently kneaded her shoulders and she sighed happily as he worked his way through the knots.

She had almost nodded off before his voice gently probed her back into consciousness. "Try it again. Relax and don't think of anything." With a caress so soft she thought she had imagined it, Kanda retreated to his previous position and closed his eyes again. "I'm here with you." And then, barely above a whisper, "And I always will be."

Struggling to breathe properly, she followed suit, determined to close the door to her traitorous thoughts.

But try as she might, she couldn't get the images of warm hands and ebony locks out of her mind.

_And there you'll always be waiting_.


	3. deteriorate

**Title:** deteriorate

**Rating:** G

**Summary:** Do you still see the flower, Kanda?

* * *

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

He closed his eyes, then reopened them barely a second later. It didn't matter anymore.

Now he could see the flowers regardless.

Before, there had only been one. Only one ghostly, slowing fading lotus blossom, wilting until it disappeared.

Gradually, one had become three, then five, then ten. In the past few years, the numbers had exploded maddeningly.

It was as if he stood in a field of flowers now, shrouded in the scent of decaying blooms and hot-metallic blood.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

He didn't know when it started, but the flowers had moved on from merely wilting and rotting. They began to bleed a thick black-red ooze, eating away the petals one by one.

When the last petal fell, the world pounded inside his head, demanding to be set free.

Things were changing, and he could feel it. These days, he grew tired more often and spaced out during training.

_and so the flower unravels, petal by bloody petal_

Sitting in his room, shirt haphazardly thrown into some corner, he stared at the

_flower-covered_

ceiling and wondered when his engineered body would break.

And that was how she found him, sprawled on his bed and lost in a dream of contorted efflorescence.

_Even the most beautiful flower can hide its evil thorns._

His name fell from her lips in a quivering tumble.

_And even the most beautiful flower must die._

As the ghostly petals gradually faded from his vision, he was mildly surprised to find Lenalee had fallen towards him, grasping his shoulders and murmuring words of comfort, straining to conceal the tears that marred her voice.

He regarded her in silence as was his custom, but the arms around her waist spoke of his gratitude.

He closed his eyes and leaned into her, content to bask in the sound of her voice even as the flowers reappeared, circling closer in their dance of death.

If he let himself drift in the calm of her presence, he could almost believe the words she said.

_Don't give up, because there will always be a way out._

_The night is always darkest just before the dawn._

_I will follow you wherever you go._

It was this last whisper that made him realize that deep down, she too realized their hopelessness.

It was the one promise he hoped she would not keep.

Together, they sat in his dim room, cloistered by the stench of madly blooming flowers, ominous and ethereal. Her fingers tightened desperately, an embrace of steel lined with the hope that if she held on hard enough, she would be able to keep him by her side.

He knew better. Unlike her, he had grown up with the darkness. His expression was morose as he looked up, dull eyes taking in the vast lotus the color of stripped skin, slowly extending its petals towards him.

His own embrace tightened and he bowed his head in prayer, hoping that the imprint he left behind would be her salvation.

Drip.

Drip.

_Drip._


	4. comfort in deceit

**Title**: comfort in deceit

**Rating**: G

**Summary**: "Everything will be alright." Even if it is not true, you still say it.

The quote at the end is by Fiona Apple.

* * *

_It will be alright._

It was the universal mantra to make things better, especially in her line of work. Countless times, she had heard it recited.

From the days of her insanity she had heard it spill from Komui's mouth like a soothing river, and they only increased as she finally accepted her duty.

It didn't matter if it was a lie.

Allen used it, Lavi used it, even Kanda used it.

And now she used it herself, trusting its omniscient power.

Such a small phrase seemed to hold tremendous power, keeping them safe from Akumas, then Noahs, and then the Earl.

But it could not save them from themselves.

As always, whenever she was in a state of misery, she would find herself seeking Kanda.

_She was the moth drawn to the dangerous flame._

Memories overlapped as she laid her hand on the cold metal of his door, remembering.

She remembered themselves as children, remembered how even back then, Kanda was still aloof and easily angered, a loner who clung to the shadows until he became one of them.

She remembered how they went from the loosest of acquaintances to comrades, dear friends, and eventually, something much, much more.

She remembered the way his voice had gradually lost its harshness and the lips quirked up into a smile, honors reserved only for her.

She remembered the physical comfort he was always willing to give her, the way he held her locked in his arms after a meeting with Rouvelier, the whispered promises trailing down her neck claiming her as his.

Smiling softly, she shook herself back to the present where she leaned on the wall next to Kanda's door, deliberating.

_Perhaps she was longing for the past because of what lay in the future_.

Things were far more serious now than ever. The Earl, the Noah, the mysterious cloaked figures and the arrival of the Third Exorcists.

The Third Exorcists were bad enough on their own, but since their arrival, she had begun to notice a change in Kanda, the way his eyes flickered and darkened and how he held himself rigidly, refusing to relax until she came into contact with him. What worried her was that he didn't even seem to realize it.

He had always held a mysterious aura cloaked protectively around him, and over time, she had come to know more about Kanda than anyone else in the Order.

…But that day made her realize that there were perhaps even more secrets to the man than she had thought.

That there were still secrets he kept from her.

To be honest, those Exorcists bothered her, too. She was far from ignorant about what the Order really did, and the hidden suspicion roiling in her gut was proof.

Sighing, she pushed away from the wall, pivoted, and opened his door in one smooth motion. He never minded whenever she barged in without announcing herself first.

As expected, he merely looked up, unconcerned, and then went right back to staring morosely at the far wall.

_A habit she was all too familiar with now._

She sat down next to him on the bed silently as her arms wound themselves around his waist. He leaned into her, warm hands folded over hers.

Words were not needed here; they both realized what was on each other's mind, because that was the strength of their bond.

Lenalee was vaguely aware and pleased that he seemed to be less moody, taking his gaze from the slate wall to the top of her head instead. She closed her eyes and sighed as she felt lips gently touch her temple.

He waited until she had settled herself closer and then spoke, calmly and gravely as was his nature.

"Things are going to start moving rapidly now. And they will be serious." _Very serious_.

As she looked up she was aware that, even now, the depths of his eyes swam with forbidden secrets. Swallowing, she found herself whispering.

"But it will be alright?"

Kanda closed his eyes, aware of her true meaning.

"I am not sure."

Perhaps he would be. Perhaps not.

He could feel a disturbing sense of déjà vu as his past merged with the present. He had a feeling the future was going to be hard for both of them, but probably harder for her. She had never taken these things well, especially when he was involved.

Falling back on their old broken mantra of dashed hope and expectation, he replied, "Everything will be alright in the end."

Even as he said that, they both felt the daunting mantel of truth, dark and unforgiving, settle around them like a security blanket gone horribly wrong.

Hands tightened around her waist and she clung to him in response, tears shimmering beneath her eyelids. The sound of his heartbeat was a loud echo in her ears as she clung onto that tattered false hope.

Together, they would wait for their future.

_Everything will be alright_.

Because even if it wasn't, it would no longer matter for them.

_._

_._

_Though dreams can be deceiving, like faces are to hearts, they serve for sweet relieving, when fantasy and reality lie too far apart._


	5. dreams of a fabricated reality

**Title**: dreams of a fabricated reality

**Rating**: PG

**Summary**: Am I just who they created me to be? The lotuses are blossoming again.

Quote at the end is a line from the song "At Least I Have You" by Super Junior M. Wow, this is longer than what I usually write for Petals. I'm not sure I like this one…it was hard to end, and this was the best I could get it. As always, please tell me what you think in the reviews!

* * *

The sound of ringing metal echoed in the near-empty box he called his room.

He stared hard at the thin sheet of silver he held in his hands, looking but not really seeing. Sheathing Mugen with a flick of his wrist, he cursed silently.

Mugen would be no good against his demons.

Lately, he'd been spending his life buffeted by a flood of images, flashing and unrelenting in his mind. Images of dead and dying bodies being crowded out by the unforgiving petals.

_Hey Kanda, we're friends, right?_

Lips twisting upwards bitterly, he eyed the windowpane in disgust. The Black Order was really something, treating human life like a game based on their whims.

_I want to be friends!_

How different was he from those Akuma? Like them, he was merely a recycled soul, thrust back onto the wheel of life against his wishes.

Sometimes he wondered what would have happened if he had truly died. The dead were best left alone, but this was something the Order flouted openly. Never really spoken of, it was their dirty little secret. Thinking about it, he felt an acidic satisfaction at the destruction Alma had left in his wake.

Once monsters are created, they never go away.

_Just die…please, just die…_

After all, he was still here, wasn't he? Alma, at least, had finally gotten his peace. He was free from the Order now, never again to be reanimated and used for the purposes of others.

_I'm sorry, Kanda…_

Kanda had known for a while, of course, that he was not who he seemed to be. The experiments, the pain

—_Alma_—

had awakened his memories of a life long dead. He supposed he should have left the Order long ago, but of course, he stayed only for her.

An image of a little girl with bright eyes, scared and angry in an unfamiliar place. The little girl who used to always hide in his room, pleading with him to hide her.

She was his only reason to live now.

It was times like these where he hated himself the most. Trust her to fall in love with a mannequin, a mockery bound by living skin. He was not who she thought he was, and he never would be.

How he wished so very hard that he had died long ago.

It was times like these where he truly hated the Order for what they had done to him. He would have gladly let them ruin his life three times over if just so they would spare hers.

For the first time, Kanda was afraid. He was afraid to face Lenalee, afraid to see the look on her face when she looked at him—_really_ looked at him. She would know that there is no "Kanda". No such man existed.

He couldn't bear to see the love die in her eyes.

He couldn't bear to see it directed at him.

Slumped against the wall, he leaned his forehead on the cold glass. Raindrops trailed by, forlorn and lost. Just like him.

Closing his eyes, he prayed with the ever decreasing shreds of faith to some distant and laughing god that she would be alright. Erase her memories, if need be. Make her forget everything, forget the pain, the lies, the anguish.

Make her forget him.

He had not seen her since that day.

_with Alma_

The day the Order ruined his life all over again. He laughed bitterly—he had tried to delude himself into believing that she would never know, would never find out the truth. But such an event could hardly be overlooked; surely, by now, she would have heard.

As if hearing his thoughts, his door opened and shut with a muted click. He could feel her presence—

—so warm and inviting—

would it still be?

—but he dared not turn around. He could see her murky reflection in the window, but he kept his gaze from wandering to her face. He did not want to see.

The air hummed with such intensity he almost felt compelled to look at her. Instead, he stubbornly held his silence. He could feel his throat constricting and out of sheer force of will he kept his breathing even.

His arm twitched and his heart leapt out of his chest when he felt her hands snake around his waist. She was kneeling directly behind him now and he could feel her lips graze his neck.

"Why do you keep hiding from me?"

The uneasy feeling rose in his chest again. This was not what he expected—then again, he didn't know what to expect. She was hardly the type to shout angrily at him, but given the circumstances…

He drew in a breath. "It is best if I leave." Better get this over with. It was the least he could do.

Her sardonic laugh surprised him. "Best for who?"

He remained silent and eventually she sighed, a ghost of air trailing delicate fingers across his ear.

"Let me guess what this is about. You feel guilty—about…you know."

He assumed she didn't voice it more for his benefit than hers, but still he kept quiet with only a slight tic in his jaw giving him away.

She continued, "It's not like it was your fault, you know."

They were all just pawns in a deadly game.

"I'm hardly unaware of what the Order has been doing…" She was quiet for a long time, as if deciding whether or not to say whatever she was thinking. Her fingers gently stroked his hair, occasionally drifting to his cheek. Finally, she spoke again.

"I—I had a feeling. All those years ago when you first showed me that tattoo…it sounded too much like…like what had happened in the past."

At this, he couldn't help but jerk his head around in surprise. So she had known, then, or guessed. She must have known for a while.

His eyes drifted upwards to meet hers. He couldn't help himself. Despite it always being her who came to him seeking solace, he was the same. She was his comfort, and even now, he still sought her reassurance.

Her eyes were gentle, as they always were. Her soft, loving gaze washed over him, and suddenly he felt overcome with remorse. He had known her for years—how could he think so lowly of her, that she would stop loving because of this?

A shaky sigh escaped him as he lurched forward to hold her, encase her in his arms.

_Never again will I let you go _

Lenalee, face leaned into his neck, smiled softly, fingers tangling in his hair.

Explanations were not needed—she knew him like no one else. One glance, one movement was like a waterfall of words between them. Even so, he needed to make sure she understood. The time for laying things out in the open had long gone, but still he tried because she deserved that much.

"I'm not meant to exist," he whispered quietly. "You shouldn't have to settle for this, for a—a forged human being."

Even before his last words trailed off, he could hear her angry huff. Shoving away from him so she could glare heatedly into his eyes, she tugged a lock of his hair gently.

—_so gentle, always so gentle—_

"I'm not _settling _for anything. This is what I want. I don't care if you used to be someone else, or that you're not really supposed to be here. That's all in the past, and…" She closed the distance again, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.

"…and all I want is you, the Kanda Yu I have always known. Nothing else matters."

He could hear that her words rang true and that was enough for him. They sat there together silently, the warmth from each other all that they needed. After all, words were an inferior vessel for their emotions.

"_Even if I can give up the whole world, you're the only thing worth treasuring."_


End file.
